Stained Sakuras
by Thirteenth-Spider
Summary: [Nanao, Shunsui] It was a strange day when he found her, or rather, she found him: a drunk man in the alleyways of Section 64.


**Stained Sakuras**

_Disclaimer: I do not own BLEACH, Kubo Taito-sensei does. I do not own beardo-Shunsui and if I claim Nanao-chan, he'd probably kill me (if my lovely, lovely Nanao-chan doesn't beat him to it)._

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It was in the dark alleyways when he found her, or rather, she found him. She was coming home from work, all dolled-up in a pink sakura kimono, in the midmorning streets of Section 64. It wasn't as dangerous as sections 70 and beyond, but it was still over-run by small-scale thugs and looters. That day she saw a couple of those thugs surround a dark alley. There was a man slumped by the wall, clutching a half-full pouch bag. A gold coin was lying beside him, teasing the passer-bys. It smelled like puke and cheap sake, that was the most distinct feature of this memory.

Of course, this was a common scene around Section 64. The mugging proceeded. Someone ran up to the alley and picked up the coin, while one of his friends decided to try to pry the pouch from the man's hand. His grip on the pouch was tight so they decided to beat him to let go of it. It took one man to hold him down, one man to punch him, one man to try and pry the pouch away from him and two men to keep watch. Not that it was necessary, as passer-bys would just stop to take a look and then walk away. It was a common sight, and she was planning to do the same had she not seen the look on the man's face. It wasn't the look of someone desperate for help, nor was it the look of someone giving up. That was a common sight as well. No.

It was a grin. Half-lidded as they were, the man's eyes were brimming with confidence. It said "I can do this," and "Don't worry about me". Other than that, it was greeting. It annoyed her to no end. Now she was obligated to save him. She pushed the two watchers aside and confronted the men. "I'm sorry," she said. "But could you please let go of my father. I've been looking for him all night."

"Really now?" one of the men said. He let go of the drunk's pouch to check her out. "Young lady's all dressed up just to look for her father?"

"Say," the man who was holding on to the drunk said. "That kimono looks like it would fetch a hefty price."

"Enough to feed us for three days," the other man hissed. He stopped punching the drunk to approach her as well.

"Please," she said, bowing her head to the ground. "Let go off my father." The watchers left their post and closed in on her. She was surrounded.

"We'll let go of him," the one holding the drunk said. "If you leave your clothes with us." The other men grinned viciously. The drunk remained smiling as well, but his eyes were kind. Those were the kind of eyes that she found difficult to understand.

She looked around for a means to defend herself. That kimono was important to her as well; she would not let them have it. The men were weaponless, and fist-fighting was not her forte. The drunk on the other hand, had a sword. "I'm sorry," she said calmly. "But I can't let you have it." She made a dash for the sword and unsheathed it almost immediately. She felt a warm glow surround her as she made her first move. Those thugs never stood a chance.

.s.t.a.i.n.e.d. s.a.k.u.r.a.s.

.c.h.e.r.r.y. s.a.k.e.

.s.t.e.r.n. g.e.n.t.l.e.n.e.s.s.

He awoke in a small one-room shanty, surrounded by books. A wet, pink, blood-stained kimono was hung to dry next to his black robes. His zanpaktou lay beside them, wiped completely clean. His long unkempt hair had been combed and his beard had been shaved off. In place of his shinigami garb he wore the white robes of a commoner. In place of a blanket, he was covered by a large pink coat, also decorated with the delicate design of sakuras. He sat up and wore it over his clothes, then stood up to meet the girl who helped him.

He found her at the corner of the room, washing her hands feverishly. "It's gone now," he said gently. "The blood stains. You're going to grind your hands to dust if you don't stop washing."

"I know," she said. "But I still see it."

He sat beside her, leaning on one of the many piles of books to be found in the house. "Was it your first time to use a sword?" he asked. He got a curt nod in reply. "I'm sorry if you got caught up in my affairs," he apologized.

"Too late," she said as she dried her hands on a rag. She then took a cup of steaming liquid from a makeshift table and handed it to him. "Drink," she ordered him.

He did as he was told. Each sip seemed to take the drunken haze away from him and ease his wounds. Sensing the tense aura in the house, he decided to start a little conversation. "You have a lot of nice books here," he started.

"I just happen to like books, "she said, as coldly as she had told off those thugs. "Don't talk as if you've read every one of them."

Ouch! he thought. He decided to try another subject. "This is a pretty coat you got here," he said, referring to the one he was wearing. "Where did you get it?"

"It was my father's," she said. He couldn't help but notice that her face had softened as she talked. She was beautiful when she was so stern a while ago, but now her beauty seemed to grow tenfold. She was merely a girl as of now, but she would surely be a lovely sight when she grows up.

He blushed, then took a sip of his medicine to regain his composure. "Your father must have been a great man," he said. "And it was sweet of him to get the same patterned kimono for his daughter. It must have cost a lot."

"Oh," she said. "That wasn't from my father. I bought it after he… moved on." Her expression was that of gentle grief, the kind of expression that made a man want to protect a woman. Was she really the hot-blooded girl that saved him earlier? he wondered. Not liking seeing her like that, it seemed that he needed to change the subject once more.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" he said frantically, knowing that he looked stupid. "By the way, oujou-chan, have you seen my beard? I seem to have misplaced it. I woke up and it was gone!" He expected her to laugh at his antics but instead…

"I shaved it off," she said sternly. "Or would you rather I shampoo the vomit off your facial hair? Soap is a hard commodity to come by to waste on the likes of you."

He sighed. This was getting no where. Such a delicate girl, closed up like a freshly sprouted blossom, it would be a sin just to pry her thoughts open. There was nothing more to talk about so he just had to say it. "Thank you," he said. "It must be hard taking care of a drunk like me."

"It was nothing," she replied. "I'm used to drunks in my line of work. I merely picked you up on the way home." She saw the shock in his expression, and guessed that he had probably figured out where she came from. "Don't be alarmed," she said. "I merely serve drinks. I might be promoted once I mature a little."

"And would you let yourself get promoted once you're… older?" he asked.

"Probably," she said. "They pay more once you're promoted, at least while you're still young. It puts food on my table and books in my room." It sounded cold and practical coming from her.

"But you have talent," he said. "Only people high spiritual energies and exceptional spiritual control could handle a zanpaktou like that for the first time. And you seem to have a knack for study as well."

"So?" she answered.

"Do you like your life right now?" he asked.

"I don't hate it," she replied. She brushed her bangs away from her face as she said that.

"But do you like it?" he asked again.

"I don't."

"So why don't you escape?" he asked her. "Become a shinigami. Then you can live in the Court of Souls and be surrounded by the books that you love. The pay is good as well. It's more than enough for buying food and more books."

"It takes a long time for people to change," she said, almost like a whisper. "It took years for me to get used living after my father's death. How many years must I waste to get used to a new way of life?"

"I guess there's no bigger blow to a child than losing a parent," he said sadly. "But if that's so, then getting used to being a shinigami must take a shorter time than getting used to your father's death." She looked at him weirdly, and then she looked down. "Come with me," he offered.

"No," she answered calmly.

"Can't I change your mind?" he pleaded.

"I'm still thinking about it," was her reply.

"Then I guess I would have to leave while you're thinking about it," he said. He looked around for a place to change back into his shinigami uniform but, being in a one-room shanty, found nothing. So he turned his back on her and started to disrobe.

"No!" she screamed. He tied his belt back on and faced her. She was blushing profusely, which made him laugh out loud. She may have found him strange during that time, but he found it amusing that someone who keeps a cold front all the time could be so shy. "It's not right," she said shyly, "for a man to disrobe in front of a girl who is not part of his family. It's fine. Take those clothes."

. "I guess so," he said while laughing. He scratched his chin. "But at least let me return your father's coat."

"Keep it," she said. "I think I've already gotten used to the loss of my father."

He stared at her for a while then smiled. He stood up to pick up his sword and his clothes. "I'll be taking my leave now. Ittekimasu, ojou-

"Nanao," she said. "My name is Ise Nanao."

"Kyoraku Shunsui," he replied. "Ittekimasu, Nanao-chan."

"Itterrashai, Kyoraku-san."

"By the way, Nanao-chan," he said before closing the door behind him. "I'd rather see you wearing the black robes of a shinigami surrounded by the books you love than a pink kimono while being surrounded by the world you dislike." The door closed silently behind him, hiding another blush.

.s.t.a.i.n.e.d. s.a.k.u.r.a.s.

.c.h.e.r.r.y. s.a.k.e.

.s.t.e.r.n. g.e.n.t.l.e.n.e.s.s.

She found him, or rather, he found her. No sooner than she had earned her sword, she was assigned to the Eight Division. He ran towards her, calling her name so casually while wearing a silly smile on his face. He was still wearing that coat, now stained with cheap sake. His beard seemed to have grown back as well, although it wasn't as bushy as before. And he was OBVIOUSLY drunk. Obligated to express her gratitude, she slapped him with her favorite book.

.s.t.a.i.n.e.d. s.a.k.u.r.a.s.

.t.h.e. b.o.o.k. h.i.t.s. m.i.g.h.t.i.e.r.

t.h.a.n. t.h.e. b.o.o.z.e.

**END**

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_Author's notes: _

_Just a few clarifications before I go.Nanao-chan coming from Section 64 was my idea. I have no idea what Kubo Taito had planned for her past. Regarding "the kind of expression a that makes a man want to protect a woman" (can't believe I wrote that), I have no fucking clue what the hell that expression is. I don't mean to be sexist or anything, I just thought Shunshun-taichou might see it that way. _

_For those who can't get what Nanao-chan's job is, let's re-cap the clues. First, she went home during the morning so it's probably a nighttime job. Second, she's required to look good in it. Third, it involves drinks and drunks. Fourth, it's promoted stage is something Shunsui would not want Nanao to do. Keep on guessing, people!_

_Anyway, I give you my heartfelt gratitude for wasting your precious time reading my crappy fics. Especially this fic, whose plot-bunny ass raped me during my bath and wouldn't let me sleep until I wrote it. Doumo. _


End file.
